Sweet Nothings From Locked Lips
by FindinNico
Summary: Draco couldn't seem to get away from the know-it-all Hermione Granger. If he didn't see her in classes he saw her in his dreams, beckoning him towards her with alluring doe-like eyes. He knew he had plenty other things to worry about, becoming a Death Eater for one. But he couldn't shake the feeling he got whenever his eyes rested on the Gryffindor, no matter how hard he tried.
1. Prologue

Prologue

* * *

It was unusual...no, just plain ludicrous how hard Draco's heart was slamming against his breast bone as he looked at her. He placed a sweaty palm over it to still the beating, but it just kept thumping like it was pounding on a nail. Why was he so nervous? Instead of snarky, unattractively arrogant, smug beyond compare—_anything_ but nervous. Bloody hell, he couldn't even look at her.

He heard her feet lightly dusting against the floor as she moved towards him. _No, no, no_ he thought with his eyes glued to the stone tiles that his feet rested upon. He wasn't ready for her to come near him. She would hear the hammering of his heart-how would he ever be able to convince her that he loathed her after that. She stopped right in front of him and he closed his eyes as he breathed her in. She smelt of lilacs and sunshine and the frosty night air. It was so refreshing, so utterly refreshing.

Her hands gently rested on his chest and he froze. He didn't know what to do.

He knew what he wanted to do; he wanted to wind one of the long brown tendrils that brushed against her cheek around his finger. He knew what he should do; he should push her away and hurl an insult so vile in her direction that tears would prick her wide brown eyes. But in this moment, he could not decide between the two.

"Draco?" her voice was like a soothing brook that washed over him—cleansed him.

"Y...you..." he struggled to find his voice, still refusing to look at her. "Why are you here?" he managed, in a strained tone that was so unlike him.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

He sighed heavily. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? "No...you don't understand," he went on, more forcefully this time. _Look at her, Draco _he coached himself, willing his eyes to travel from his brown patent leather boots to her glowing face. Blimey! She was beautiful. More than beautiful, downright effervescent. The moon bathed her face in a soft, pearlescent glow as it peaked through the arched windows of the atrium.

"I shouldn't feel this way about you," he whispered, more to himself than to her, but she didn't miss a beat.

"What way?" She asked coyly, pressing her body closer to his suggestively.

Any fight he had within him was becoming non-existent the more he felt of her. The side that craved her, that he tried to bury deep down within himself, was clawing its way to his loins.

"Don't...Hermione..." he weakly objected, but she silenced him by enveloping his mouth in a hungry kiss. Her tongue licked the bottom of his lip and he moaned in ecstasy. She had him. She had him and she knew it, and he would never be able to pretend she didn't.

* * *

**A/N: My first attempt at Harry Potter FanFiction. Never really thought about writing one before, but then I came across this, how they say "Dramione", fic and now I'm hooked. Believe it or not, I never thought of pairing Hermione and Draco together, but I am absolutely in love with the thought. So here is my take on it. Expect a very complex Malfoy with all the quirks, but undeniably charming.  
**

**The image for this story came from a Deviant Artist by the username of gothgirl94.**


	2. Chapter 1

**1**

* * *

Draco awoke with a start. His heart beat rapidly against his rib cage as bits of his dream bore holes into his consciousness. He had that stupid dream again. This was the second time this week. He placed his hands over his face and silently groaned, mindful of his other Slytherin cohorts sleeping soundly around him. If they only knew about his passionate dreams involving the know-it-all mudblood, they'd bind him to the bed and take turns bashing the insanity out of him. And if his father knew, that would definitely earn him a date with the cruciatus curse, and an avada kedavra from his barmy Aunt Bellatrix.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he groaned, dragging his hands down to his mouth and biting on the tips on of his long, agile fingers. He didn't understand it. Normally, he felt either distaste or indifference towards the bushy-haired Gryffindor. But over the past couple months...no, years...he couldn't seem to muster up the same displeasure that so easily spewed from his mouth when he was young.

His beliefs were still the same, right? _Mudbloods are scum. We should eradicate them. Yada, yada, and so forth_. He found himself mocking the hate-filled speeches of his father, Luscious Malfoy, instead of taking them as words to live by.

"Errrgh," he moaned in frustration. In fact, he was more than just frustrated; he was downright, over-the-bloody-moon stressed. His sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had just started and he already felt like he had enough of it. He hadn't even planned on coming back. What good would a wizarding degree be now when his fate was to follow the Dark Lord? A fate he had never wanted and his mother tried to prevent.

The thought of the coiled snake burned on his forearm caused bile to rise up from his stomach and sour his tongue. He shook his head violently trying to push image to the dark recesses of his memory. If only he had left Malfoy Manor. During the summer he had thought long and hard about where he would go and how he would hide. But they were only flighty thoughts. He wouldn't be able to apparate or use magic without being detected by the Ministry of Magic until February. It would be impossible to evade his father or the Dark Lord and his minions without the use of his wand.

He didn't know what to do. One side of him, the side bred as a pompous, pure-blood aristocrat, told him to just accept his duty and serve the Dark Lord like his father expected, because it was the easiest way to go through life. The other side told him to find a way out of it, but he didn't know how to do that without getting himself killed, or his mother. He had until his birthday, which was when his initiation as a Death Eater would take place (how fitting...), to construct a plan that would lead to his freedom.

But his concerns over being branded a Death Eater did not explain the dreams that he had about the mudblood Granger.

"C'mon Draco, what's your deal?" he fiercely whispered to himself. He placed his feet firmly on the ground and began to aggressively rub his temples with his fingertips. "Granger, why Granger?" She was everything that he'd been taught to detest. But he didn't hate her. He hadn't for some time. Not since she punched him in the nose in 3rd year, ironically.

He had to admit, the girl had moxie and he admired that. He chuckled at the thought. He admired Granger for having the guts to punch him in the nose. How utterly ridiculous.

But admiration and infatuation are two different things and-based on this dream-it seemed like he had some sort of infatuation with the brainy broad. But that couldn't be? It just could not be.

_When was the last time you kissed a girl?_ He asked himself, racking his brain for the answer.

Over the summer he had been so swamped with dark arts training, courtesy of his Aunt Bellatrix, that he hadn't had time to waste on courtship. Still, there was that one day in June when he snuck off towards the Greengrass estate and more than paid Daphne a visit.

That was it!

It had been two months since his liaison with Greengrass and he hadn't experienced any sort of intimacy since then. _And_ it just so happens that Granger was the first female student that he saw as he waited for the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross Station. Not to mention, he would soon be sworn in as a Death Eater and would then be branded as an accomplice in raging war against her kind. That's why he was having these tantalizing dreams featuring the Gryffindor brain. It seems that his subconscious was playing a cruel joke on him.

What he needed was a good romp from a more than willing sixth year girl. And he knew just the girl to go to. Draco leaped out of his bed and raced to the shower with a towel in hand, eager to rid himself of the Gryffindor plaguing his sleep.

* * *

Draco walked down the dimly lit, stone hallway whistling to himself. It had been a while since he called upon the cheeky Ravenclaw scholar with a healthy appetite for Quidditch Seekers: Herelda Limley, a half-breed with a penchant for blond pure-bloods and fireworks. Well, not just fireworks, anything that would explode or could be set aflame. She was a bit of a pyro. Draco often wondered how she didn't end up expelled with all her kooky experiments that would fill the girl's second floor lavatory with billowing black smoke.

All of third year she would walk by his table and give him inviting looks filled with a little more than curiosity. It wasn't until fourth year that he actually took her up on her offer. She was a welcome distraction, especially in light of Pansy Parkinson's obnoxious crush on him.

He never pictured himself with a Ravenclaw, in fact he never pictured himself with anyone other than a Slytherin pure-blood, that's what his family expected. But Limley wasn't his girlfriend, she wasn't even a love interest though she tried to squirm her way into his heart. He had made it quite clear that nothing more would come of their intimate encounters. Besides, she wasn't the only one he would admonish with words dipped in charm, but she _was_ the most memorable.

He stuck his hands deep in his black trouser pockets as he made his way down the dungeon corridor towards the carpeted stairs that led towards Hogwarts' ground floor. He enjoyed walking the tapestry-plastered halls of the magical institution this early. He didn't have to worry about trying to keep up his arrogant façade because there was no one to impress, everyone was tightly tucked away in their bed awaiting the 8am wail of the enchanted Coocoo clock placed high above the fireplace in every common room.

He wondered if Herelda had looked out for his memos. He would transfigure pieces of parchment into little Horntail dragons that would scurry along the floor and slip underneath the crack of the heavy Ravenclaw door in search of the young witch. The paper would contain a meeting spot, either: the fourth floor men's loo located passed the rickety iron-clad knight (which was never occupied); the basement storage closet that housed long forgotten Quidditch equipment (too old to care about or use); or the unused guest room on the third floor. At least Draco referred to it as a guest room, it was the only place that had a bed, but was a challenge to find and was never occupied.

_How long would it take her to make it to the storage closet? _She would probably jump up in a hurry. Not to overstate his abilities, but she enjoyed their time spent together far more than he.

It had been a while since he last called on her despite the not-so-subtle hints she would leave him. For some reason he just hadn't felt the same pull towards her. Strange enough, he stopped visiting her around the same time he started having those forsaken dreams. Near the end of fifth year.

Since the new school year began, about a month ago, Draco had probably seen Hermione Granger roughly four times, but had dreamt about her ten times that much. When he did see her, he couldn't muster up the same filth to hurl in her direction, so he avoided her instead.

_Avoided her! _Draco shook his head in disbelief.

The thought was laughable, but it was the truth. He would duck into classrooms, purposely climb the wrong flight of stairs or leap over pillars, all to decrease the chances of him running into Hermione Granger.

_Malfoy!_

_Me!_

_Running away from a female mudblood!_

He knitted his eyebrows together in embarrassment. "Fuck. Me," he scowled and then collided with something firm, knocking him off his feet.

He heard a muffled "Oomph" followed by an armful of heavy books thudding to the ground. He hadn't even noticed anything coming towards him. He had been so lost in thought that his collision with the unknown person in front of him was the first time he stopped to take in his surroundings since leaving his dungeon common room.

"Sorry mate, I wasn't in the right mind," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

_Sorry!? Malfoy's never apologize, especially when they get knocked to the ground! _

But he hadn't been feeling like much of a Malfoy lately. Not one that his father would be proud of, at least.

He reached for the splayed open copy of _Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charms_ before glancing at the figure who'd clumsily bumped into him. His hand froze on the cover of the book as he locked eyes with them. They were staring at him curiously, their mouth slightly agape as they crouched on their hands and knees.

_Ugh, fuck me twice as hard_ Draco scowled, bringing his right hand to smooth back his sleek white-blond hair in discomfort.

"What did you say to me?" Hermione Granger breathed in disbelief. Her eyes frantically searched his face, looking for the familiar sneer that normally accompanied their encounters, but it could not be found.

"Nothing," he mumbled. His hand was still positioned on the leather cover of the hefty book when Hermione reached out to scoop it up, accidentally brushing her palm against his fingers. His eyes widened in shock and he could feel tingling where their hands connected. He became keenly aware of the fact that she probably expected him to yank his hand away as if he had touched hot coal, but he didn't. She was the one who lifted her palm and rescued the book from his reach.

He continued to stare at her as he stood erect, searching his brain desperately for something menacing to say. All he could think of was how beautiful she would look in the glow of moonlight and how very sweet she looked now, hovering over a scattered pile of hefty textbooks.

"Malfoy?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows aggressively as if to say 'what is your problem?'

What _was_ his problem!?

Why was every hair on his body standing on end? Why were his palms starting to form tiny beads of sweat? Why was his mouth bone dry?

_This isn't right, this isn't right. This Isn't Bloody Right!_

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman in the portrait to the left of him shift to get a better view of the two early bird students. It was this gesture that finally brought Draco back to his senses. He shook his head and scurried away at twice the speed he had originally been walking.

He needed to get to the west wing at the top of the spiral staircase to the Ravenclaw common room. He needed to wake up Herelda. But most of all he needed to stop thinking about the way his skin still tingled where Granger had touched him.

* * *

**A/N**:** I have super, enormously gigantic plans for this story which I am very excited about. I already have everything thought out so updates will be pretty regular. So, I envision Draco as a bit of a playboy. Something that will come back to bite him right in the butt later on.**

**Please review and tell me what you think! I would like to thank everyone who followed/favourited this story I'd like to say a special thank you to UselessScottishTigerGirl556 and patronusmagic for giving me my first reviews and thereby feeding my ego.**


	3. Chapter 2

**2**

* * *

It had been an utterly exasperating month for Hermione Granger and she hadn't had a spare moment to herself since it began. Of course she expected that she would be particularly busy during the first two weeks that Hogwarts started back. She was a Gryffindor Prefect after all-a model of guidance for all students, most especially first years.

She knew her duties very well and she took great pleasure in performing them. Just as expected, she ensured that all first years made it off the Hogwarts Express and into the Great Hall in one intimidated piece. Then once sorting was through she took her time to lead them among the glorious hallways of the ancient school and explain where everything was, despite Ron's insistence that if she went on "caterwauling" as she was they wouldn't be done the tour until next week.

Really, it was a wonder Ron made Prefect at all. He reprimanded the students more than he instructed them and left her to explain everything that would be useful for their seven years of study.

Nevertheless, once they were through with their excursion and ended up at the Gryffindor common room she could see the little rays of confidence appearing on each new student's face, ensuring her that they would be alright.

This year she took extra time to explain safety measures in great detail. It was imperative that the first year students were aware that this year at Hogwarts was not like any of the ones earlier. That fact was blatantly obvious to the more seasoned scholars of the school. During Dumbledore's welcoming speech there were a lot of new rules and regulations that were not previously part of the curriculum.

Curfews had changed. No one could be out of their common rooms after 8 pm, excluding Prefects who must find themselves in their common rooms at 9. Not to mention the protective boundaries on the school grounds had moved considerably closer. They now hovered vicariously close to Hagrid's hut and would violently toss anyone who tried to pass them flat on their back. Hogsmeade trips were now limited to only twice a month beginning in October, instead of four. And there were tight-lipped Ministry security wizards and witches that would stroll the hallways, peering down at all the students from guarded eyes as they walked by.

To the newer students these changes didn't really make much of a difference, it was their first time experiencing them, but they grieved Hermione. It constantly reminded her that something big was happening; something she couldn't control; something her dearest friend Harry Potter a part of.

Hermione could feel the change in the very hollow of her bones. She knew something astronomically great was going to take place this year and it would change the course of her life forever. She felt terrified, absolutely terrified about the prospect of what it might be. And so she chose to ignore it until she had to face it. The best way she knew how to distract herself in times of plight was to throw herself into her studies. That was exactly what she was doing when she ran into Draco Malfoy early this morning, the last person she expected to meet when leaving the library with an armful of leather-bound textbooks.

She hadn't seen him until she collided with him. She was too busy thinking about the N.E.W.T evaluations. Though it wouldn't take place for months, it was the biggest exam of their wizarding lives and it never hurt to get a head start on studying. Besides, preparing herself for the impending examinations was an excellent way to busy her mind and prevent her from thinking about other things—such as what havoc Voldermort and his Death Eaters might be stirring outside of the stone fortress she resided in. It was that sort of reasoning that had kept her at the top of all her classes.

So there she was, bolting down the hallway with a stack of books up to her nose, when she slammed right into the prat himself. Curious enough, he didn't curse at her like she'd expected. In a very un-Malfoy-like fashion, he apologized. At least, she thought he apologized. She couldn't really make out the words that spilled from his mouth, but it sounded a lot like sorry.

And once he actually saw who he ran into, why he looked positively spooked. The whole thing was completely bonkers.

He stood there, staring at her as she gathered her books with a shocked expression plastered on his face. No insults, no mudblood slurs, not even a scowl. And then he was gone, racing down the hall like a mad man.

Hermione tried to shake the image of the bleach blond bouncing on his heels as he charged for the stairs, but she couldn't. There were a lot of things Hermione couldn't shake about Draco Malfoy. She had hardly seen him at all this year, mind you the year had just started, but normally he practically leaped at the chance to harass her about her muggle lineage. But the crude comments had slowed down over the past couple months. And he had become practically invisible. She knew for a fact that she should have seen him in Potions class, but he hadn't shown up. Perhaps it bothered him that Professor Snape was no longer in charge of the tutelage of his favourite lesson. Not like she cared. She always suspected that Snape was a little more lenient towards the pompous pure-blood.

Hermione felt the urge to follow him and see what he was up to_. What reason would he have to climb the staircase leading to the West Wing so early in the morning?_ A part of her was reluctant, saying that it was none of her business. The other part of her, the part that reared to life by befriending the bold Harry Potter and the highly distrustful Ronald Weasley, urged her to scurry after the young snake.

So, without another wasted minute, she brandished her wand and uttered a charm to shrink her textbooks so she could deposit them in the back pocket of her grey slacks and hurried after him.

Her feet hit the stones in soft footfalls and she kept herself a couple of feet behind Malfoy so that only his blond hair was visible. He didn't have any signs of someone who was guilty of misdeeds. He didn't look around to see if someone followed him, or take out his wand as a precaution. He kept walking at a brisk pace with his hands tightly clenched by his sides and it seemed to talk to himself, quite aggressively, Hermione observed.

Malfoy stopped in front of the Ravenclaw common room and Hermione hid herself behind a mystical statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, watching him intently.

"It's a little early for you to sneak around the castle, hm," a hushed voice floated down to Hermione causing her to jump. Her heart slammed against her ribcage and she prepared herself to face Malfoy...but he hadn't moved from where he stood in front of the great wooden door.

"Who said that?" Hermione whispered.

"Well it certainly wasn't him," the voice responded amused. "I don't think he would take you spying on him so lightly."

Hermione whirled her head around, slowly reaching behind her back to rescue her wand from her back pocket. Surely she would've heard the footsteps of someone sneaking up on her? She raised her head and locked eyes with the accusatory stone eyes of the Ravenclaw founder.

"Ah, so you've found me," the striking granite face smiled.

Hermione exhaled a breath she was unaware that she was holding. She should have known that the statue wasn't just your regular stone monument. She hadn't paid it any mind due to the fact that she knew the dazzling eagle knocker was what the Ravenclaws used to enter their common room. She leaned back against the statue so that she was completely hidden before responding to it.

"Now's not the time for games," Hermione scolded the stone woman. _Aren't Ravenclaws known for their cleverness? _Hermione sighed.

She peered around the ruching of Rowena's grey dress and watched as Malfoy reached into his pocket and brought out a torn strip of parchment, scrunching it into a ball in his hand and raising it to his lips to blow into his fist. He then released his fingers like a lotus flower blossoming in the spring. A small origami dragon leaped from his palm and began to scuttle along the floor, snapping at the air and then creeping under the impressively grand, wooden door in front of him.

"Impressive," Rowena commented with a hint of intrigue.

"Shhhh!" Hermione hissed, pressing herself closer to the statue.

Rowena slowly twisted her stiff neck to stare down at Hermione with furrowed brows. "And for what reason should I stay silent? I am not the one who is out-of-place."

"Miss Ravenclaw please! We ought to stay quiet," whispered Hermione urgently.

Malfoy turned his head to glance behind him and Hermione pressed herself as snugly as she could against the cool body of the solid figure of the Ravenclaw founder, hoping the statue would be wise enough to bite her tongue. "Oh please, oh please, don't say anything Rowena," she murmured under her breath.

"You're awake?" Came the familiar voice of Draco Malfoy to fill the pit of Hermione's stomach with dread.

"Afraid so, Mr. Malfoy," Rowena replied in a tone brushed with familiarity. "You're inaudible spells are coming along famously," she complimented, a rare thing for the infamously intelligent and intimidating founder to do. She was known for being quite reserved when it came to showing endearment.

"Heh, well as you told me before, it would do me good to put a little more effort into getting the hang of them," Malfoy responded with what sounded like bashful gratitude to Hermione. But that couldn't be right, why would Malfoy care about praise uttered from a statue?

"And I am quite pleased to see that you listened," Rowena nodded. "Now if only you'd curb that philandering appetite of yours," she clucked her tongue disapprovingly, a sound that resembled the bashing together of two rocks.

"I have...in a way," said Malfoy, sheepishly. "There's...a lot going on," and he proceeded to look at his right hand as if it was trying to tell him something.

"Hmm," Rowena mused, eyeing the boy like a mother well-versed in the attitudes and behaviours of teenage boys.

Malfoy turned his attention back towards the brown door as he noticed his dragon scurrying out from under the crack. He kneeled down expecting the creature's return to his palm, but it instead began to run about animatedly; jumping and flicking its tail like an over-excited puppy.

"You should confront him instead of hiding like you are," Rowena whispered, turning her attention back to Hermione. "It would spare you the humiliation if he were to catch you watching him."

"I'd rather take my chances running away," retorted Hermione. "Just don't say anything."

While Malfoy was busy observing the dragon with a smirk of amusement plastered on his face, Hermione gradually backed away from the statue, holding her finger to her lips as if to will Rowena not to utter a sound. When she was far enough away from the Slytherin and Ravenclaw, she turned around and bolted down the hall.

* * *

Hermione sighed and tickled her nose with the back of her quill. She had come unequivocally close to being ousted by the talkative Ravenclaw statue. If she had stayed any longer Rowena would have for sure told Malfoy she was there. She was certain of it. There was an unusual bond shared between the two—almost like friendship, if you could befriend a statue.

She had to hand it to Malfoy, he performed some pretty impressive magic. He didn't even need to move his lips to form the tiny paper dragon. Hermione wasn't very good with inaudible spells. It took a lot of concentration and focus. She could never seem to quiet her mind long enough to make it work, there was just too much buzzing around in her head.

The question remained, however, what could Malfoy want with a Ravenclaw? It didn't seem like he was planning anything devious, but you could never tell with Malfoy. It was no secret that his father was a Death Eater. Could Malfoy be following in his footsteps? Harry would say so; he had practically labeled Malfoy as a bona fide servant to Voldermort when he got off the Hogwarts Express. But she hadn't seen anything that looked like the dark mark on his arm. Not that she was looking. That would imply that she was checking him out and she would most certainly never do that. Despite how well Malfoy seemed to fill out his robes lately...

"What did Rowena say," Hermione pondered aloud. "That she wished he would stop being such a womanizer." She shifted uncomfortably as the words left her mouth. Perhaps she had happened upon something that was a little too personal. _But with a Ravenclaw? And which one could it be?_ Hermione curiously sifted through all the sixth year Ravenclaw girls that she knew, trying to figure out which one would catch Malfoy's eye and for what reason. Just for curiousity's sake, of course.

"Blimey, Hermione! Do you ever take a break?" She heard Ron call to her. His red hair was in messy tufts on his head and he stood watching her while rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"One can never be too well-versed in magical studies," she replied, still lost in thought about Malfoy. "And I haven't really been able to sleep much lately."

"I know what you mean," Ron sighed. "Just too much has changed. Hogwarts doesn't feel like Hogwarts anymore."

Hermione looked at her dishevelled friend and gave him a hesitant nod. She couldn't deny that Hogwarts had become more like a prison than a school since Voldermort had risen. There were new curfews and rules and ministry patrollers stationed everywhere. Every piece of mail sent from the Hogwarts owlery passed through the eyes of the Ministry of Magic before being delivered. Their privacy was slowly being taken away, bit by bit.

Hermione tried not to let it frustrate her because she knew that it was to keep them safe, but in a world where you didn't know who was truly good and who wasn't, it was hard not to find it bothersome.

"Fancy we wake Harry up and go get ourselves something to eat?" Ron asked with a hand gently patting his stomach.

"I'm already awake," their dark-haired friend called to them. "And I wouldn't mind some grub."

* * *

Hermione sat in her regular spot at the long wooden table in the Great Hall awaiting her two friends. She had Ancient Runes while Harry and Ron had Divination (a class she was more than overjoyed to miss) so they had agreed to just meet in the Great Hall for lunch instead of trying to find each other in the mass of students.

She had a dark raven feather before her that she was toying with; getting it to shift from plumage to something heavier like a beret that she could place in her hair, and then to the bird from whence it came. She was quite pleased that she could get it to take the shape of the raven. The resemblance was uncanny; you would swear it was the real bird standing in front of you. She could even get it to walk around the table and make little squawking noises, but she couldn't get it to fly. As soon as it would jump into the air it would mystically poof back into the smooth black feather it originally started from.

She bit her lip in frustration. _What was a bird if it couldn't fly?_ She didn't understand what she was doing wrong. She was the only one in the class this week who was able to master the bird-conjuring spell and have several yellow, twittering finches protrude from her wand and flutter mirthfully around her head. Why couldn't she get her raven to fly?

Was her wrist movement a little too exaggerated? Perhaps instead of a flick she just needed to ever-so-slightly glide her wand, as if she was making a check mark in the air? Hermione knew her mind wouldn't be at ease until she was able to correct the problem. She would have to approach Professor McGonagall or maybe there was something in the _A_ _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ textbook.

She pulled the book from the brown satchel that she was hardly ever without and was about to flip through the pages when she felt a prickle at the back of her neck. It was the sort of feeling you get when someone is watching you without your knowledge. Hermione carefully turned to peer over her right shoulder and sure enough there was Malfoy, seated between Crabbe and Goyle, watching her. He dropped his eyes the moment he saw that she noticed him. But not before she'd seen the expression on his face. It was puzzling, he looked almost intrigued. Did he notice the way she was able to transform the feather? Was he impressed by her magical ability?

"Ha!" Hermione scoffed aloud. _Preposterous!_ As if anything she did impressed him. If anything it made him hate her more. She was what prevented him from being the top of the class. The only thing she didn't surpass him in was Potions.

Could he have noticed her fleeing from the Ravenclaw common room? Nonsense, he would've confronted her already if he did. Malfoy wasn't one to let things simmer.

She placed her hand on her cheek and leaned on the table. _What was taking Harry and Ron so long?_ She didn't like being in the Great Hall by herself with Malfoy and his goons seated a few feet away from her. In time he would say something, he had gone too long without insulting her. Maybe that's why he was watching her? He was gauging how much time he had before Ron and Harry showed up.

Hermione's knees bounced impatiently as she stared intently at the redwood doors directly in front of her. She mentally willed her friends to appear through them sooner rather than later.

She became aware of footsteps approaching in her direction. She abruptly brought her textbook closer to her, pretending like she was fully absorbed in the text scrawled all over the pages so that, hopefully, Malfoy would leave her alone. It was a long shot and she knew it, but she tried it nonetheless.

"Ahem," the person softly cleared their throat as they stood a foot away from her. "Hermione?"

It was a soft, feminine voice that called her name and she gratefully turned her head towards it.

"Oh! Lavender," she couldn't hide the surprise in voice. She didn't really speak to the sixth-year girl before her. Hermione had nothing in common with the girl, so though she was grateful to have the girl talking to her as a way to keep Malfoy at bay, she was also very confused about why she approached her in the first place.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," the girl spoke in a voice that was sugary sweet. "I was just wondering...since well...you and Ron are such good friends, I was just wondering if you knew if he is involved?"

"Involved?" Hermione repeated slowly.

"Yes, like, taken?"

_Taken!_ Hermione bit her cheek. She had a right mind to tell this ditsy git to high-tail it out of here. How dare she come up to her only to ask if Ron was single or not? Isn't that what snooping and spying was for? Hadn't she shown enough attention to Ron that she might be considered a possible love interest? It wasn't her fault that he was so daft that he couldn't figure out that she fancied him.

"I don't know," she answered, trying to mediate her anger. "You'd have to ask him yourself."

She twirled a perfectly spiraled blond tress around her index finger and smiled. "I suppose you're right," she told Hermione. "I should introduce myself." She walked away from Hermione without saying another word, but froze as soon as she saw the tall wood-plank doors open to the left of her and Ron and Harry walking through them.

Hermione watched as the girl transformed into an overly giddy flirt, batting her long, golden lashes at the red-head as she passed in front of him. Ron had no choice but to acknowledge her and she took the opportunity to send him a beguiling smile.

"What was that all about?" Hermione heard Harry ask as they neared the table.

"I'm not quite sure myself," Ron grinned. "But she's quite fit, innit?"

_Please!_ Hermione rolled her eyes. Was that all it took to get a guy to notice you? Turning yourself into a completely ninny? She felt disgusted at the thought.

"What's wrong?" Harry sat down across from her and reached towards the wheat-woven basket filled with spiraled rolls. He was always the first to notice when she was cross and it was very hard to lie to him.

"Nothing, just a spell I can't seem to get to work right," she fibbed. It was only a half-truth. She _was_ frustrated by the spell however; she was more frustrated by Lavender's intrusion.

"I don't think I'd be much help there. You bested me in Transfiguration several years ago."

"From the first day, I'd say," Ron joked.

"I can't deny that," Harry smiled.

Despite the foul mood Hermione now found herself in, she was able to crack a smile at the comments of her best friends. Transfiguration wasn't their specialty from day one, and continued to plague them still. It was only with her help that they managed to get 'Outstanding' on their O.W.L's and be permitted into McGonagall's class to further their ambitions of becoming Aurors. And she was more than relieved to have them here and spare her from a surprise encounter by Malfoy.

"Any news?" Hermione questioned her spectacled friend, "From Dumbledore?"

"He wants me to meet him later today," he explained between chews. "Wouldn't say what about. I have a feeling it has to do with Slughorn though."

"Who? The Potions teacher?" Ron spoke up with a mouthful of squash. "A bit mad isn't he? The old nutter plays favourites."

Hermione had noticed it too. Normally, she got along rather well with all of her professors (excluding Professor Snape), but Slughorn seemed deeply intrigued by her and most especially Harry. He never missed a chance to cordially greet the legendary boy with the scar and always turned to Hermione with an eager smile when he posed a question. If you weren't able to impress him, he didn't take the time to remember your name, which is why Ron always got called variations of 'Weablebee' and 'Wimbly'.

"He knows something," Harry's voice dropped an octave and he leaned closer towards his friends to exclude those seated around them from overhearing their conversation. "I told you how I went with Dumbledore to retrieve him. He was a professor here when Voldermort was a student, I'm sure of it. Rumour is, Riddle was pretty brilliant."

"Downright barmy, if you ask me," clucked Ron.

"That too," agreed Harry.

"So then perhaps Dumbledore believes that Slughorn is privy to a valuable tidbit of information about Voldermort that only you can persuade him to share," Hermione whispered.

"That's my guess," said Harry with finality as spoonful of cabbage soup pushed past his lips.

* * *

**A/N: I thought I had this chapter figured out earlier, but then it was missing something. The idea for the Rowena Ravenclaw statue came to me earlier today. I thought it would add a little fun. I'm very excited for the next chapter. It just needs tweaking and then it will be up. Enjoy. And I am always open to suggestions. ****  
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	4. Chapter 3

**3  
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* * *

She caught him staring at her, and the funny thing is he didn't even realize he was doing it until her honey-brown eyes met with his grey ones. He only wanted to see what she was doing with the feather. He was quite familiar with Transfiguration skills and could turn a piece of parchment into just about anything.

It was astounding how she was able to transform the feather into the raven that lost it. Without meaning to, his eyes moved from the feather to her face. He smiled at the way she nibbled on her lip in frustration as the bird kept changing back into the black feather when the animal jumped into the air.

He liked to see her practice magic, it calmed him, he didn't really understand why. In fact, he found it outrageously absurd. Perhaps it was the way she looked when she was concentrating on something. Her eyes would narrow ever so slightly and her cheeks would puff out when she couldn't get the spell to go exactly as she had planned.

_She looked..._ Draco fished his brain for the right word, _She looked ador—_his brain was immediately silenced as she glanced over at him. He abruptly brought his eyes back to the empty plate in front of him and cursed himself for being such a muppet. _Was he just about to call Granger adorable?!_ "She's as adorable as a horned toad!" he grumbled to himself, pushing his plate away.

He looked between his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, who sat busily flapping their gums about the impending Quidditch season on either side of him. He hated how they would sandwich him in like this, like he was some sort of precious cargo they needed to protect. When he was younger he relished in their company because they made him look important, intimidating...tough. Now he just felt like a ninny with these two hulking boulders invading his private space. It's funny how things change as you get older.

"Now that those Weasley fucks are gone, we'll nail a lot more shots," Crabbe gave a throaty chuckle, reveling in the idea of hurling bludgers at the Gryffindor chasers without Fred and George to defend them.

"I'll bet you three galleons I can nail Potter square in the jaw," Goyle gloated whilst shoving a butter tart in his mouth.

Draco sat in silence as they droned on. The two numskulls hadn't even noticed that he hadn't said a word since they sat down at the table, they were too focused on filling their bulbous cheeks with copious amounts of food and blabbing on about who could hit the bludger the farthest.

Quidditch had lost its appeal for Draco. He still enjoyed the feeling he got soaring among the clouds on his broom, but his mind had been far too preoccupied with other matters to really care about the games that were in store. He even debated whether he would continue being the lead Seeker for the team, he had already declined being the captain, relinquishing it to Reeger Urquhart.

There was a lot expected of him this year. Not just from his father, but from the other Death Eaters that now occupied his house, and the Dark Lord. Draco shuddered at the thought. He hadn't wanted to get involved with anything that the Dark Lord had planned, but being a Malfoy, it's expected that eventually he'd get the dark mark and serve, just like his father, his mother and his wonky aunt. He glanced down at his arm shielded from view by the thick fabric of his midnight robes. He wondered what it felt like to have the ugly serpent permanently burnished on your skin, slithering when Voldermort was near.

Draco knew that receiving the dark mark shouldn't upset him like it did; he was already tainted. He didn't belong at Hogwarts anymore; he'd seen too much evil. His aunt Bella forced him to learn and accurately cast the three unforgivable curses. Every time he refused to do a hex on a helpless muggle-born witch or wizard captured by the snatcher team, Bellatrix would perform the same curse (excluding avada kadarva, though she often threatened him with it) on him. He had felt the sickening knives of the cruciatus curse more times than he could count; shed more blood than he thought was humanly possible; and saw too many deaths for a boy his age.

The thought made him faint and as usual he pushed it away.

And then there was Granger, who preoccupied more of his thoughts than he would willingly care to admit. He had thought that spending time with Herelda Limley would nip that little problem in the arse, but it had only made it worse. He left the storage closet this morning feeling incredibly guilty instead of satisfied. And now he was staring at the muggle girl like a love-sick ninny.

_What a bunch of bullocks, _Draco scowled. He needed to get out of the Great Hall. With grace only a Malfoy could muster, he excused himself from the Syltherin table and hastened towards the tall metal doors leading towards the dungeons.

"I hope you are on your way to Potions class, Mister Malfoy," a cold voice slithered towards his ear the moment he passed through the heavy doors. Draco cursed under his breath. He should have known that Snape would be on him about ditching Potions class. Normally the old greaser was a lot more astute when it came to absences. He figured when he was able to get away with missing the class for a week without being reprimanded that he was in the clear.

"Come off it, Snape," Draco groaned, refusing to face the ashen visage of his godfather, "You and I both know I shan't attend Hogwarts much longer," he whispered spitefully.

"I happen to know nothing of the sort," Snape breathed coolly, "But I am aware of how displeased your father will be to hear that you've been missing out on a class that you excel at."

"If I already excel at it, then I shouldn't have to attend," Draco spat stubbornly.

Snape clicked his tongue disapprovingly and Draco knew he was about to get an earful.

"May I remind you Draco the times of which we find ourselves in," he hissed, "It is imperative that you learn as much as you can from Hogwarts whilst you are still here. Not just for your..." Snape cleared his throat uncomfortably, "...future endeavours, but also for the very preservation of your life. Now, if I hear once more that you have skipped out on Potions class I will deduct 10,000 points from Syltherin. In. Your. Honour," he finished with a menacing smirk.

Draco bit his tongue. There was no arguing with Snape once he put on his authoritarian voice. He was thankful that Serverus hadn't mentioned anything to his father. Since falling out of favor with the Dark Lord, Luscious Malfoy had been far too cruel to his only son than was customary. He still had the scars on his left forearm from the last time his father punished him.

"Fine," was all the blond managed to say.

"Here," Snape produced a textbook from under his robes and laid it in Draco's palms, "And don't worry about Slughorn. I've explained your absence. You will find him more than understanding." With that the professor waved his long, black satin cape and glided down the hallway.

"Urgh!" Draco growled. There was a reason he avoided Potions class and that reason was sitting at a table, chatting merrily to a black-haired wonder boy and a carrot-top git.

...

* * *

Draco entered the classroom of Professor Slughorn with a deep frown obscuring his features. Now he would see Hermione five times a week, which would escalate his dreams incredibly. As soon as he turned the polished knob of the classroom door all eyes were on him, including hers.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, welcome, welcome," Slughorn chirped. "No worries, Professor Snape explained everything to me. Take a seat, take a seat," he motioned to a desk stationed near the front of the class beside a highly amused Blaise Zabini.

_Ah, _Draco sighed in relief at the familiar face. There were a couple other Sylterins within the class, but none of them were people he cared to associate with. The rest of the students were a handful of Gryffindors (Hermione, Potter and Weasel included), a sprinkle of Ravenclaws and a very light dusting of Hufflepuffs. In sixth year the students were given more choice over the classes they could enroll in and a lot of them tended to stay away from Advanced Potions. Draco had no choice.

"You are just in time for the excitement," Slughorn beamed, casting his blue eyes towards a black cauldron that sat in the center of his desk with a potion already bubbling.

"Well, look at what the kneazel dragged in," Zabini clucked as soon as Draco sat down beside him. "What's the matter..." the bronze Italian continued to taunt. "Snape got your tongue?"

"Piss off, Zabini," Draco growled. "I'm vexed enough as it is. I don't need you buggering up my day even more with your incessant ribbing."

Blaise flashed his friend a brilliant smile and waved a glossy, black coil away from his forehead. "Oh, get your knickers out your arse, Malfoy. This class is a hoot and a half since pudgy took over. Just looking at him flail his arms about as he talks is enough to tickle my chin."

Draco took a moment to cast a glance towards the enthusiastic professor who talked expressively with his hands-far more than the average person. It was a bit comical to watch and despite being aggrieved by the current situation Draco now found himself in, he did find the exaggerated gesturing of Professor Slughorn entertaining.

"You should have come last week," Zabini leaned over and whispered to his friend. "We had to brew liquid death. The person that did it the best won a small vial of Felix Felicis."

"Liquid luck!?" Draco questioned in disbelief. He would've done anything to procure a drop of that potion. It was incredibly tricky to brew and the ingredients were not widely available. If there was one thing that Draco could use this year it was luck. "Who won it?" Though Draco was certain that without him in the class, it was most likely Granger.

"Potter," Blaise snickered.

Draco's brow raised in surprise. _Potter! What the devil was going on!?_

Slughorn cheerfully placed a hand on top of his brown, tweed vest and grinned a very mischievous grin. "Who," he purred, glancing at every one of his students, "Can tell me what potion sits within this very cauldron? Come on, come on, get up and take a whiff, don't be shy," he encouraged, as his students hesitantly left their desks and gingerly walked towards the bubbling black pot.

The girls began to move a bit faster than the boys as wafts of the potion made its way to eager noses. Draco hung back, observing how everyone's eyes seemed to go a bit hazy, and their mouths began to lift into toothy grins.

"It's..." he heard Hermione say dreamily.

"A love potion," he finished, casting a haughty look at the irritated Gryffindor. She hated being interrupted.

"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy! Excellent! A love potion indeed and a strong one at that," Slughorn clapped his pudgy fingers together and gestured for everyone to take their seats. "One of the most dangerous potions a wizard can get their hands on."

Ron scoffed, loud enough to turn several heads in his direction. "You're telling me that this stuff is more dangerous than the liquid death you had us brewing the other day?" he snickered.

"Precisely Weablebee" Slughorn nodded. "Liquid death will kill you and kill you quite severely. But a love potion is dangerous because of the way that it can manipulate your emotions. Screw with your head," The round professor added dancing his hands around his skull, "Cause you to do just about anything the one who administered it to you asks; say things you don't mean, but most of all, admit to things you do mean, but didn't want anyone to know."

"So it's like the Veritaserum serum, but with an added dose of euphoria?" Hermione pondered aloud.

"Exactly, my dear Miss. Granger!" Slughorn exclaimed with a flourish of his fingers. "Dangerous and entertaining stuff. And we are going to brew it as well as a solution," the professor chuckled.

Draco didn't like the sound of this. Didn't like it one bit. "Are you sure that's not a completely mental idea?" He intruded, hoping to get out of this very risky experiment.

"Nonsense, nonsense. Don't worry Mr. Malfoy, the potion is only fatal if you ingest it. Now all you blokes find yourself partnered with a lady, the effects are better studied when dealing with the opposite sex."

Professor Slughorn glanced towards Malfoy and tipped his chin, "Except for you Mr. Malfoy," he smiled. "I think with your absences, it would be wise for you to partner up with Miss. Granger, in case of any trouble."

Draco felt his stomach drop to the very soles of his shoes. No, this was very bad, very bad indeed. "Sir, I'm sure Professor Snape has informed you that I am quite capable of brewing potions," he told the professor in his famously pompous tone.

"Oh yes, Professor Snape told me of your many accomplishments. But I still find that being paired with one of the stronger students of the class will work to your advantage. Now, if you will," he waved a pudgy hand towards Hermione whose cheeks had began to burn deeply scarlet. She looked as if she wanted to fervently protest, but the words would not come to her mouth.

"I don't think you heard what I said Professor Slughorn," Draco protested. "I am _perfectly_ capable of brewing a love potion without the meddling of a..." he narrowed his eyes as he looked at Hermione with contempt.

"Don't you dare say it," he heard Potter hiss from somewhere behind him.

He tried to push the word 'mudblood' out of his mouth, but it stuck in his throat. "...muggle," he finished.

"That may very well be so," Professor Slughorn nodded, "But you have missed a few classes and I allowed you to join this lesson without being penalized. As the instructor of this course I recommend you take Miss. Granger as your partner," the bulbous man retorted with a smile too clenched to view as genuine.

But Draco refused to heed his counsel and continued to protest. "And I recommend that you pry the earwax out of your ears," Draco rebuked. "I'm not some trembling, daft first-year. I know what I'm doing. And I refuse—" Draco stopped his obnoxious rant the moment he saw the cheery light disappear from the professor's eyes.

The look that Slughorn gave him was one he received quite often from his father. It caused ice to run through his veins and painfully constrict all of his muscles.

"When you have your own classroom to instruct you may do whatsoever you please, Mister Malfoy," Slughorn enunciated his name pointedly, pursing his lips in displeasure. "However, it seems that you are but a student. And since I am at Hogwarts to nurture your magical growth with instruction, I say again," once more Slughorn waved his hand towards Hermione Granger, "if you will."

There was a veiled threat behind Slughorn's blue eyes. When Draco saw this expression on his father's face, he knew that any act of disobedience would be followed by physical harm. But with Slughorn he wasn't sure how to take it. He didn't know much about the professor except that he was a Slytherin as well, and probably not adverse to more obscure forms of punishment.

"Let it go, Draco," Zabini whispered beside him. "It's not wise to get on Slughorn's bad side."

Whether or not getting on Slughorn's 'bad side' was harmful to his grades was something Draco cared little about. He didn't want to come to this class in the first place. He could demand that being partnered with Granger would severely displease his father, but then he would look like a tool who didn't know how to fight his own battles. No, he'd rather grit his teeth and bear it. "Bullocks!" Draco huffed and angrily snatched his book and cauldron from off his desk to head to where Granger tensely sat. He could feel Potter and Weasley's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, daring him to say something rude.

"Let's just get this over with," he muttered as he plopped down on the metal stool next to her.

She only blinked at him and quickly turned to face the professor once more.

"Alright, everyone settled?" Slughorn inquired, changing back into the jolly, eager professor he was before. It perturbed Draco to see the sudden change. The man shifted moods like a boggart changed shape. Yes, there was something devious and sly about Slughorn that Draco figured he should very much avoid.

The professor peered at all of his paired students and smiled. "All the gents will be brewing the love potion and the ladies will construct the antidote. Happy mixing!" He exclaimed.

* * *

**A/N: A bit of a cliché situation near the end. It is actually a different take on what occurred in the book/film. It won't play out like you may think. I quite enjoyed writing Slughorn's character. **


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